#creativepoole

'ere there be monsters!

‘Who?’ Asked Drake, as was usual for the beginning of a duel. His voice echoed loudly.

‘Markiah Holt. First of District Twenty-seven.’ The man was a giant. Bare chested, with a fluff of dark brown hair between his pectorals. His arms were as muscular as could be possible, but his stomach was fat and his legs thin. Across his back was slung a heavy iron mace with a haft of two metres in length. The man stood one head higher than even that.

Drake sat his grey stone throne on the dais of the great hall. This was the ground floor of the tower of the Fifth City, a hall so large that the flaming braziers that uniformly lined the room from dais to door could not illuminate the walls, which were lost in inky blackness.

‘Come.’ The Guardian commanded, standing from his seat, black and green robes falling about him. A large hood concealed his face in shadow.

The giant of a man reached for his weapon and made to charge the long distance, but darkness suddenly surrounded him. A wind ran cold through the room, the fires were extinguished, and then emerald flame was loosed across the hall. A scream lost itself to the gloom.

The flames of the braziers returned with a flash of green, and then their hot tongues turned golden once again. Drake was sat on his throne, his right hand smoking from beneath his long sleeve. Far across from him, near the large bronze doors of the hall, was a smouldering heap of bone and flesh, burnt blood and bubbling fat.

The Fifth City was one of hard stone, hard steel and harder men. Once it was the City of Flowers, some called it the Fifth Petal. But when its previous Guardian had died, fallen from his tower, the city soon became the City of Flame, the Rotten Petal.

Drake had been chosen as the next Guardian. He had entered the city with an army, fresh from battle beyond the walls of the Fourth City. With these dark men came a dark culture, brutal and without mercy. These were soldiers who had fought and seen death, won a great war, yet gained no prize for themselves. Drake awarded them the city, honouring each captain of his military with leadership of each district. The gentle folk were driven from their homes, and only those with the will or skill to survive remained.

The battle hungry Drake turned the city into the arena of a great game. Each district would present to him their strongest warrior, decided through deadly combat, and a duel between Champion and Guardian would commence. The loser would perish, the winner would sit the stone throne until death, commanding a great host and ruling a rotten city. Many men travelled to the Fifth City, many men became Champion, known as the First, but each were ended by the emerald flame.

He sat his throne day and night, ate at the throne, spoke from the throne, commanded from the throne, killed from the throne. Since his time in the city, Drake had never once explored the other floors of the tower, nor performed the sacred ritual that all Guardians should. He remained mostly seated. A day would come that would be different.

‘My lord commander!’ The stout man entered the hall, his boiled leather and ring mail armour coated in the blood of others. ‘The city gate has fallen and District One is under attack.’ His shouts echoed about the room as he quickly marched toward the dais.

Drake leant onto his knees and spoke with interest. ‘Whose army?’

‘No army, my lord.’ The stout soldier coughed. ‘Just a man.’

The Guardian sat back into his throne and thought for a moment. ‘Any warrior from District Thirty and onward could do the same. Let this man come, and let him break himself against the shields of the Champions.’

‘Yes my lord.’ The soldier bowed and retreated from the room. The bronze doors closed behind him.

A day passed and the soldier returned, his arm a bandaged stump. ‘My Lord Commander, Districts One through Twenty-five have fallen. Their Champions have been defeated. I led a retinue to confront the man, but we were defeated. I managed to escape here to you, even in great pain.’

‘This does not concern me. Did I not tell you that greater Champions would defeat this man?’

‘Yes my lord, however-‘

‘Silence.’ Drake’s voice was soft, but it carried a darkness in it. ‘Leave me.’

‘Yes my lord.’ The man exited.

Two days passed without word. Drake continued to sit, his silent servants serving food and drink. On the third day, the great bronze doors opened and a new face appeared. A younger man than the stout soldier, longer of leg and broad shouldered. ‘M’Lord commander.’ Fear was on his voice. ‘Districts Forty to the city gates have fallen.’ The man fell to his knees. Drake noticed bloody marks on his legs, as if bitten.

‘Have my army assembled, hunt the man down.’ He was calm.

The soldier grimaced in pain. ‘M’lord. Your army was deployed yesterday, and already a third have fallen.’

Drake sat up straight, intrigued. ‘How is this so?’

‘The remaining fighters from forty districts have rallied behind a man who they call the new ruler.’

‘Have they now?’

‘Yes M’Lord… Only…’ The soldier showed much fear.

‘Speak.’ Commanded the Guardian.

‘Well M’Lord, not only have the citizens rebelled, but there are worse things… Packs of ghostly wolves run savage through the streets, and there’s been word of other evils. Demons made of lightning, they fall from the sky and turn our ranks to ash.’ The man fell to his hands, his fingers gripping the stone floor helplessly. ‘M’Lord, we won’t last a day even.’

‘Leave me, and fight.’ Said Drake. ‘I’ll await this new Champion and his followers if you fail.’

‘But M’Lord-‘

‘Go!’ He commanded, and the soldier obliged, scurrying out of the bronze doors.

Ten more hours he sat, and then the doors to his hall opened once again. Another soldier entered, armoured in brown leather under mail, and a dark green wool spun hooded cloak over that. A dagger was strapped to his belt, a bastard sword across his back and a fine yew longbow was at hand. ‘Guardian. The city has fallen and your army is all but broken.’

‘How many of my men are left fighting?’ Asked Drake, somewhat unmoved by the news.

‘Small bands are scattered across many districts, unable to regroup and rebuild a host.’ The soldier spoke while approaching the throne with strong steps. ‘They will be defeated or captured in short time.’

‘Tell me the name of the man who has broken my city gates, raised an army from my people and smashed my own forces. Tell me the name of this Champion of all districts.’ Drake was not easily fooled by this soldier. ‘Who?’

‘Addison, son of Adam, of the Storm. Heir to the Guardianship of the Second City and slayer of traitors.’

Drake’s smile could be seen within the shade of the black hood. ‘Come.’

Darkness overcame the light of the braziers, a chill ran through the air and then a green heat made to swallow Addison. The emerald flame tumbled through the blackness, its light illuminating the stone below it. It fell against the ground were Addison stood, splashing angry and hot. When the orange fires returned to light up the hall once again, Drake sat while eyeing a pile off black ash on top of scorched stonework, thoroughly pleased.

The hall was silent for many minutes, and Drake fell into his usual habit of sitting and waiting. Perhaps the rebel army would storm his hall next, breaking through the bronze doors in the hope that their leader and champion had disposed of the Guardian. What a fun scenario that would be. He would burn hundreds with his flame, savouring the sounds and the smells. It had been years since he had burnt more than one or two men at a time, and there was nothing quite like the taste of charred flesh on the air. He allowed himself a wide grin, quite happy with the thought. His smile was then lengthened across his right cheek, a burn curling up to his ear.

From the shadows to his left came a second bolt of white and blue light, then a third and a forth, each narrowly missing Drake as he leapt from his stone seat and took to the shadows of the opposite side of the hall. When each bolt of energy sparked up, they rendered Addison in a blue glow, pulling on the string of his longbow and loosing the electric arrows at the darkly robed Guardian. When his shafts of light were in the air and away, the shadows reformed around Addison and concealed him once again.

The Guardian slipped into the shadows himself, hidden from Addison. The only light was burning between them down the centre of the hall. There was no movement, no sound, each of them waiting for the other to act. It was Drake whose impatience won out first.

With a breath and a conjuration of power, the Guardian raised his hand and allowed flames to lick up about his fingers. The magic was thrown to where Addison was thought to be, a ball of fire arcing across the hall, the light revealing Drake’s own place within the shadows.

While the magic was still in the air, the blue glow from Addison’s primed missile revealed him to be several metres to the left. On quick release he was shrouded yet again. The bolt passed by Drake’s chest as he dodged, passing between arm and body, and burning and ripping through the dark robes. The shaft of energy ended its journey against the wall far behind Drake, dispersing in a flash of light that silhouetted the Guardian. Another bolt was loosed and Drake was forced to dodge once again, evading with increasing speed.

‘I have no patience for this!’ Drake called out, annoyed. His power swelled and his will called for light. The high ceiling of the hall became awash in emerald brilliance, flames flowing over the stone, chasing away the shadows. Tall square stone pillars became apparent, spaced metres between and splitting the hall into thirds across its width. Beyond them were stone walls with jet black tapestries inlaid onto them. The black stone shimmered with the green light, the images it displayed describing some ancient battle, where five armies united to overcome some inhuman horror.

‘It was you who favoured the darkness, I simply followed your lead.’ Addison stood with bow in hand, his cloak and hood missing, part of the armour on his shoulder was singed, black but intact.

‘It is not often a man evades my fire.’ Drake spoke from beneath his hood. ‘But your magic is weak, and you will not last.’

‘Magic?’ Addison looked at his bow and back to Drake. ‘This? This is not my magic, this is simply an enchanted weapon. Silent, stealthy. Though stealth has failed me.’ Addison threw the wooden bow aside with a clatter. He raised a hand and pointed at the Guardian. ‘This is my magic.’

Drake could feel it. There was a fuzz about his skin, the air was electric. Before he knew it, he was rolling away with black and green robes spiralling around him, as the arc of lightning crept quickly across the hall and exploded with a crack against the black tapestry behind him. Another came, and Drake still moved, leaping behind one of the hall’s stone pillars. He soon found himself sprinting to the next when the first pillar exploded into dust.

Behind the second pillar was a moment’s reprieve, when Drake could consider his next move. Hit him before he hits me. Was his first thought. So Drake leant out from behind the pillar and made to toss fire. He quickly ducked back into safety as Addison’s magic crackled toward him, thundering through the location where his head had once been. Close… He sighed. Let’s try this again. The Guardian leant out, took note of Addison’s position, and ducked back behind the pillar as another bolt flew towards him. Immediately he jumped out from the opposite side of his cover, hand engulfed in his signature green flame. The hot green magic was launched across the room toward Addison who had reacted to the movement, sending another crackling bolt of electricity toward Drake.

The fire intercepted the path of the lightning, and Drake briefly thought that the magic would disrupt or cancel each other out. They did not. Both flame and electricity struck where their targets would have been standing, if not for their simultaneous evasion. The fire splashed against the ground, the lightning popped with a flash, and Drake made an advantageous discovery.

It seemed to him that the electricity could pass through the emerald flame without dispersing the fire. It would have been pleasing if Addison’s magic could be disrupted, but this would work in his favour greatly. He gathered his power deep within himself, building heat inside. His stomach burned, his body shook and then quickened to a vibration so fast that the stone at his feet was worn. The magic took him, his entire being erupted into fire. Drake became fire.

From behind the stone pillar came a shade, shadow and fire entwined. It danced across the hall towards Addison, green and black, hungering to embrace the other with a devouring heat. Lightning struck, once and then twice, but each bolt passed through the elemental being with no affect.

A deep laugh sounded from the fire, the flames rising with each bellow. Drake was untouchable. Addison turned and ran, sprinting towards the dais as Drake followed in his new form. The shade chased him to the throne and then beyond, tossing fire as he did.

Behind the stone chair was a doorway with stairs leading up. Addison darted through and up the steps into the unlit stair and on to the upper floors of the Guardian’s tower. Drake followed, his heat leaving a scorched wake on the stone floor behind him.

Addison’s footsteps echoed as he ran, washing down through the stairwell and into the floors below him. Drake followed the sound, illuminating the way with his flickering light. He passed many doors, some locked, some open, some broken, yet the echo of running continued, so he continued to follow. It was around the thirtieth floor that the other sound started. It was low at first, but then as he reached the thirty-first floor, the roaring began. It was the sound of running water coming from behind a closed door. Water trickled out from the foot of the door, and very quickly began to steam when it came into proximity of Drake. The sound of sprinting continued above, so the Guardian left the closed room alone and floated up.

Drake had reached the fortieth floor when Addison stopped running. He would only have to search two or three floors above him to find his enemy from the sound of it, and burn him alive. The forty-first floor opened up from a broken down door, its hinges rusted and torn, the wood scattered just on the inside. Empty bookshelves and tables filled a large chamber, the green light lit the room and revealed there to be nothing living inside. Drake continued on.

The forty-second floor had a door loose on its hinges. It swung open under the force of Drake’s fiery form and immediately combusted, combining with the green light to illuminate the room with orange and emerald. Inside was some sort of maintenance room, filled with brass pipes that bubbled within. They seemed to be pushing water or perhaps some other liquid about the room and possibly the rest of the tower. When Drake approached the pipes, they quickly began to shake and hiss, steam and bubbles fizzing out of the seams of the metalwork. He moved away again, satisfied that Addison was not there.

But as he turned to leave, the light caused the pipes to cast moving shadows. Drake thought he saw movement within, something hugging the dark shapes as they moved. His magic charged, the fire and his form was ablaze, flickering and burning more than before. The room was bright, the temperature intense. Steam escaped the pipes with a whistle, the brass rumbled and the sounds became unbearable. And then from the shadows Addison appeared, peering through the complex lattice of pipework, his lips moving, but his words obscured by the thunderous sound of the shaking brass and the squeal of the steam. Then came the water.

The pipes burst, gushing and steaming. The rush took Drake, and the next thing he knew he was tumbling down through the tower stair, his flame extinguished and his solid form rolling over steps with water surrounding him. The torrent forced him down and down, crushing him against stone steps and then throwing him up at the stone ceiling, but still down and down and down. By the time the water had stopped, Drake was sprawled on the stair, just outside the door of the seventh floor. His back, shoulders and neck ached, his knee throbbed, but he was otherwise unharmed. A normal man would have been killed.

The darkness surrounded him, he could feel the wet slickness of the ground, could hear the running water continue down to the floors below, and could hear the crackle come from above. The purple blue light was a din at first, but soon crept around the spiralling stone walls of the stairwell and towards Drake. He ran. He could feel the air change, the electric buzz went through his body, he was no fool, he knew what came for him. The light chased him quickly, faster than fast, and Drake could not outrun it. His robes were heavy with water, the steps were too wet to run down without slipping. He found himself correcting his balance more than once, checking himself against the outside wall.

At the Guardian’s heels came fingers of lightning, travelling through the water, grasping hungrily for his legs. Their brightness was rivalled only by their electric heat. He would be caught, but… Drake focused himself, found the centre of his internal energy and brought it to the surface. As before, his form was released into elemental fire and the electric magic found no grip on him. And so the water came again.

When Drake was next on his feet, it was after being washed down the stair and back into the great hall. He had been soaked through and dripped heavily from his robes. The black and green material hugged his head and body tightly. Before he was fully aware, his head still spinning, the crackling magic came from the dark doorway behind the dais. Again the electric power sought out Drake, using the water to find him. The lightning magic found nothing, as the Guardian transformed himself once more. Just as Drake had adapted to Addison’s lightning, Addison had adapted to Drake’s seemingly untouchable fire. This angered him.

The green flame exploded in size, demonstrating Drake’s fury. His anger grew and his power swelled. The elemental form of smoke and fire and shadow doubled in size, then doubled again, and then again and again and again. Drake screamed and burned and scorched. The great stone hall filled up with his heat, the floor began to soften and glow, edging towards molten. The orange fires of the braziers were lost to the emerald.

I have never… Drake was lost in his anger, he had never lost a battle. I will never! He forced his growing mass into the stairway, his flames travelling up the steps, licking at the walls and spreading into each and every room in the tower. Libraries burned, pumping stations burst and the water evaporated, stone melted, glass vaporised and the very air itself was heated until it exploded out of the top of the tower, raining stone and mortar down on to the city below.

The release of energy was all that Drake could manage, and he was soon left standing in the darkened hall with his fires extinguished. The tower top was gone, the power and heat had been so incredible. Addison had surely perished. Surely.

The air was light, his breathing was heavy and laboured. Drake made his way through the darkness, over the dull shimmering floor to the doors of the hall. Before he could reach the doorway, the hinges creaked and the bronze doors swung open. Light flooded the great room from outside and three long shadows crept across the hot stone ground. Growls echoed, and padded feet and claws sang out as the grey and black shapes made for Drake. Their yellow eyes aglow.

The wolves were on him, teeth shredding his clothes and gnawing at his legs. Drake kicked one off, kicked out again and struck the beast on the nose, and then again on the neck. The animal rolled away violently, and then one of its pack mates was thrown atop of it. Both animals dispersed into smoke with the impact, and the last of the three was left to have its throat torn out by Drake’s own hands, flesh and blood and fur all vanishing into dark mist in his fingers.

He laughed, amused by these apparitions. Addison was certainly creative in the use of his magic. He was also creative in his strategies, turning the city against Drake. So now he must leave the tower and take back what was his, before the entire game comes to an end.

He left the hall and entered the city streets, dark dirt roads and dark stone buildings with dark tiled roofs and dark dirty windows, all damaged by the fallen stones of the Guardian’s tower. The world was grey and blue and orange, the night sky mingling with the fires that raged below it. The sound of steel against steel could be heard and the screams of the dying too, all off in the distance. Drake walked with torn robes and aching bones, heading toward the sound of battle. It was a song to him, beautiful and an inspiration to his blood lust.

Passing abandoned houses and the abandoned dead, the Guardian took in the sights and the smells. His lungs sucked it in, his eyes wide with it all. It was revitalising. His pain subsided, his heart pumped, his energies rose. He laughed and screamed and laughed again, and then he laughed and screamed and screamed and laughed and ran and screamed! The tight dark streets opened up into a fountained square and a battle was at hand, swords and shields knocking and clanging together, armour and weapons rang, shouts lingered in the air and echoed against the buildings surrounding the square. Drake came into the fray with his voice singing a frightening song. He leapt into the air, higher than any normal man could, and landed within the fight, crushing the head of one lightly armoured soldier beneath his feet, and then striking with a bare fist against another. The second man’s armoured chest crumpled like paper, his body propelled into a couple that were dancing with steal and iron between them.

The fighting men soon stopped their skirmish, fearful of Drake, and their unwillingness to continue fighting was their doom. Drake swept into one side of the joined battle, like a scythe he cut soldiers down with feet and fists alone. He moved quickly, faster than the other men could run, and was soon standing over their writhing bodies. The other half of the square broke out of their shock and dared to run away, but Drake was on them. He charged up their rear, grabbing at shoulders and heads and arms, pulling and crushing and throwing. Bodies were tossed aside like leaves in the wind, landing heavy on the ground or inside the dried up fountain. They smashed into buildings, through windows and doors. The Guardian’s strength was inhuman… But then he was inhuman.

Drake pulled at his ruined black and green robes and ripped them from his body, tossing them aside. Beneath was a black, full body overall, with neither gloves nor boots. His head was bald, his skin pale and sickly green, and from the left side of his neck to his cheek was silver green scale. He took a breath and allowed a pleasurable shiver to run from his head to his toes, and smiling he took off again, sprinting through the city.

One street was filled with men victorious over Drake’s loyal army, the Fifth City’s soldiers lay dead at their feet. He bulled into them all, his shoulders and fists and elbows cracking bone beneath their force. The next street was not as populated, just one large man busy looting a house of stored weapons. Drake dashed past the man, as quick as a flash, leaving a broken necked doll to fall to the ground. An enemy, an innocent, or his own men, Drake engaged them all. His lust for battle outweighed his rationality.

After travelling through several districts of the city without contact, Drake began to calm, but then he came to a long and wide street, easily able to fit five carts across. Beyond the road was fire, and fighting, and the Guardian craved it. He rushed on, only to stop when a crowd appeared from alleyways and buildings ahead of him. They stood their ground in front of him, blocking the street, baring swords and maces and bows and slings. Drake laughed. ‘That’s him!’ One man pointed with his blade. ‘The old Guardian!’

‘Come!’ Drake shouted, but the men made no such attempt. He laughed and clapped his hands together, creating a green spark and a small flame between his palms. When he pulled his hands apart, a long black blade grew from them and ended with a dark green hilt. He took the sword in one hand and slid the blade through the heel of the other. His blood coloured the sharp edge and then was alight, the sword aflame in that emerald green that was so commonly used. ‘Come now, and die fighting, or die running.’ The men’s faces were fearful, and Drake loved it.

‘I never would have taken you as a swordsman.’ The voice was a surprise, and not only to Drake. The line of fighters parted at the centre and Addison stepped through them with a limp.

Drake smiled. ‘How did you survive?’

‘You blew me out of a window, luckily not so high up that I could not save myself.’

‘You are very skilled.’ He pointed with his blade. ‘But your magic is weak!’

‘As is yours, that is why you failed to kill me.’ The Guardian was enraged by that. Addison scratched his head, gave a yawn and then continued to speak. ‘I have known about you for a long time, Drake. I took part in the war beyond the Fourth City, where your name was legendary. Your army was powerful, your command unrivalled.

‘Unfortunately, I entered the war after you took your leave of it, so I never had the opportunity to meet with you. But I was able to see the results of your campaign, the death and the destruction; the charred remains of men and women; of the wildlife; the trees and the villages. You left a scarred land, where even hardened soldiers were turned back with revulsion.’ He looked Drake in the eyes. Those pale green eyes. ‘I came here with fear of you, with anger for a great many things, but that fear has gone.’

‘You will fear me again.’ Drake took a step toward Addison, and another. ‘My magic can consume you and end you within the blink of an eye, or it can burn you slowly, stretching out your death into hours and days.’ He kept walking forward. ‘But for you, I would not use my magic. My blade was made for you, Addison. I have waited for you, I have dreamt of the day that my steel would kiss one such as you!’ His quick walk turned to a jog. ‘No spells, just swords!’ His lips curled into a cruel smile. His sword aglow as the green fire curled up around the blade.

Addison answered by gripping the hilt of his own sword, drawing the weapon from over his shoulder. The blade was clean and silver blue, it’s edge well sharpened. It left the scabbard with the sound of metal scraping leather ringing in the air. ‘Just swords.’

His words must have inspired some courage in the other men. Just swords. Their fear for magic left them and they charged at Drake, leaving Addison standing alone, his blade hanging in his hand. Just swords. Metal flashed, steel clashed with steel, but only Drake was victorious. His flaming sword cut through the other men’s weapons, through their armour and shields. The Guardian in battle danced around the rest, his blade whirling and slicing. Screams sang out around him, bodies thudding to the ground. ‘You will fear me!’ Drake screamed out. He was as graceful as he was deadly, as fast as he was strong. No one could touch him. ‘You will fear me!‘

One warrior swung an axe at Drake’s head, but the Guardian was under it and cutting through the assailant with a flash of green. The blade sliced through and then into another behind. It caught the other warrior’s spine and jammed, but a kick was all it took to shove the second man away and retrieve the blade, just in time to swipe upward and block the sword of a heavily armoured giant. Drake kicked his knee, metal bent and the bone inside cracked. The man fell, Drake spun backward on one heel and brought the other foot around to the man’s helmet, crushing it and its contents like a juicy red grape. In the same motion, his sword was in another opponent, cutting from collar to waist.

The men died quickly around him, great warriors or not, and he would have it that Addison would die the same. The pale green man approached the son of Adam with speed, raising his black sword above his head, poised to strike down. Addison stood motionless, his sword at his side. When Drake came down on him, the other man stepped aside and allowed the Guardian to pass him by, the blue bladed sword parrying the black and green. Drake whirled around, his blade whistling, reaching out for the foe. The momentum when coupled with inhuman strength and speed created an unimaginable force, one that could slice a man in half with ease. But instead of striking Addison, the flaming sword flew down the street, spinning like a wheel of fire. Drake’s hand was still holding on to the hilt.

Addison had knelt below Drake’s whirling attack, cutting upwards with his own blade and severing the pale man’s hand from the wrist. Drake made no sound, but his wide eyes spoke for him. Addison rose up to his feet and slammed his shoulder into Drake’s chest, causing him to stumble. Blood ran from the open wound, and on contact with the air it combusted into green fire. A steady flow of flame poured from the Guardian’s pained and bloody stump.

‘I am a better Swordsman than I am a Mage.’ Addison proclaimed. Drake looked up in shock, his mouth opened and closed. No words came.

Addison wasted no time. He stepped forward heavily, putting his weight behind the point of his metallic blue blade. The tip took Drake between his collarbones, into the soft dimple of his throat. The deep red ran down the blade and was ablaze. When the sword was removed, scraping against flesh and bone and scale, the blood ran loose.

Drake’s eyes were still wide with shock when the emerald flames engulfed him, his life blood flowing freely from him and ensuring his death with fire. His skin blistered, his blood boiled, his life was ended.

Well, after some time struggling to make ends meet, my time in comics has come to a close

Aside from maybe some side gigs, simple projects, I'll be out of the long form game for good.

So what's next? A new job, soon hopefully, but I'll also be moving into the TTRPG space with a book that's currently in development.

THE STYMPHALIANS is a Forged in the Dark roleplaying game set in the distant future of humanity, long after the Earth has been abandoned. The players take the role of a squad of mercenaries from a space faring people called The Stymphalians, making planet fall on a war torn world to aid resistance fighters in taking back what is rightfully theirs.

However... Not all is as it seems. As the war progresses, a slumbering force stirs to the turmoil.